


Drained of Colour

by sunsetdawn20



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, M/M, Obsession, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetdawn20/pseuds/sunsetdawn20
Summary: Five drabbles about Agent Mahone and his thoughts on Michael. Set vaguely in the first half of S2.(Part of Road to Panama: a collection of scenes of various lengths, with various pairings written for a prompt table. They're all within the same universe that goes AU at the end of S2 because I just want them all to have some peace in Panama.)





	Drained of Colour

**016\. red**  
It starts as a job he can’t get out of. Another red stain on his hands and at this point it almost doesn’t matter anymore. 

Within days Alex finds himself lost in Michael Scofield’s picture, as if he could climb inside the man’s head through those expressive eyes. 

**017\. blue**  
They find the hard drive in the river and Alex can’t sleep, waiting for whatever they might recover from it. Not that sleep ever comes easy. 

But now he thinks of the elevator and Scofield’s eyes and there’s a strange sense of triumph in knowing you’ve found your match. 

**018\. black**   
He traces the black lines of the tattoo on the endless photos he always keeps close. They’re the key – not just to finding Scofield but also into his mind, his personality. Alex doesn’t find a lot of people interesting these days, and Michael Scofield certainly stands apart.

First it’s just artful lines. Then he begins to see the patterns. But it’s only later, many days into the investigation, that it first occurs to him that he spends hours every night staring at the naked skin of the other man. 

Alex swats the thought away like an annoying fly. But like an annoying fly, it keeps returning. 

**019\. white**   
His dreams taste white like his pills. Sound white like the absence of sound after a fatal shot. Smell like the soap he used to wash the blood off his hands and are hazy around the edges like he’s walking through white mist all the time. And his dreams look white - white like the white of Michael Scofield’s eyes. 

**020\. colourless**   
He calls Pam because he doesn’t know what else to do. Things ended badly and that was entirely his fault, but in a way that’s almost convenient. Some nights he can almost believe that under the ashes of his burned bridges there’s still some of their connection left to salvage. 

It’s a good dream. One he’s not even entirely sure he wants to come true. He’s not the man he was when he first met her and he’s certainly not the man he’d want to raise his son. He loves them, he’d do anything for them, but he’s not entirely sure he has enough energy to spend a lifetime lying to them. 

There is something almost perversely freeing about lying to Michael, knowing Michael can see right through every single one of them.


End file.
